


Every Inch of Your Skin (Is a Holy Grail I've Got to Find)

by girl0nfire, saturnmeetsmercury (jarofhearts)



Series: I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Date Night, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Restaurants, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:50:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4853561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofhearts/pseuds/saturnmeetsmercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monday: Foreplay</p><p>There's something to be said for treating his best girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Inch of Your Skin (Is a Holy Grail I've Got to Find)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of our series that we wrote for the Bucky/Natasha Smut-a-Thon that happened a while back on Tumblr. We did the whole seven days, plus some addons, because we can't contain ourselves.
> 
> All of these stories are set in a universe that's inspired by both the MCU and the comics, where Natalia and the Winter Soldier meet in the Red Room and remind each other what it is to be human. They're discovered and forcibly parted, and for a long while, neither of them remembers. But their paths cross again for real during the events of Civil War, and everything that follows is all but inevitable.
> 
> We really hope you enjoy these stories as much as we enjoyed writing them. :)

_May 2019_

 

They’ve settled into this routine without even meaning to; somehow, after everything, after finding each other again, moving past the worst of it and settling together into something vaguely resembling a normal life (well, as normal as two people whose day job includes, on any given day: aliens, biologically enhanced fascists, and matters of global security), they’ve found themselves occupying a small but blissful corner of their own. A cozy apartment, a bedroom that’s all theirs, many quiet, lazy mornings and even some evenings that aren’t filled with smoke and ash and bloody knuckles. Every other Thursday, even a date. A _real_ one: dinner out, dancing, the theatre, drinks at a hotel bar, all the normal things they never had a chance to have before. There’s a blessed happiness in enjoying something so small and innocuous, because they’d both gone decades thinking they’d never come this close to it.

Bucky’s made dinner reservations tonight, a trendy sushi restaurant in the East Village, some place Natasha had mentioned off-hand a few weeks ago after seeing something in a magazine while they were flying into Nigeria for an op. He’d filed the idea away, a few rounds of dates ahead already planned, so when the time came to find a place for dinner this time he called immediately and shamelessly name-dropped to get them a private table.

Natasha is going through her usual routine, the one she seems to relish when she gets ready for a night out with him; she’s moving slowly, languorously around their bedroom in only her lingerie for the evening, heels, touching up her makeup and styling her hair and generally preening all for his benefit.  

He _loves_ this part.

Well, he loves all of it, loves what comes after, loves the act of sitting at dinner with her, holding her hand as they walk, but _this_ -

She’s seated at the small vanity he assembled for her a few months ago, tucked in the corner of their bedroom near one of the windows, carefully applying her lipstick when he finally pushes himself up from where he’s seated on the edge of their bed and crosses over to settle behind her. His hands slide over her upper arms gently, careful not to disturb her movements, and he bends down to press his lips to her bare shoulder, just beside the silken black strap of her bra.

“You’re almost ready?”

“How much time do I still have?” Natasha wants to know, putting the lipstick away, instead rolling the individual curls of hair around her fingers to check the way they fall again.

“Reservation is for eight,” he offers, kissing a path over her shoulder slowly. “Bit after seven now.”

He can feel her gaze resting on him in the mirror, can, from his peripheral vision, see the small smile that appears on her lips.

“Alright. I should get dressed then.”

“Need help?” He turns his face into her neck, nuzzling gently, his hands coming to rest lightly on her waist.

The smile on her lips widens, and she reaches up with one hand to trail her fingertips through his hair, brushing the short strands behind his ear.

“I’m a big girl. Go on, I’ll be out in two minutes.”

“Alright -” He nudges up into her hand for a moment, pressing a kiss to the corner of her jaw.

She smells _amazing_ , always, lemon and something darker, spicy, and it’s the closest he thinks he’ll ever get to being home.

“I’ll call a cab?”

“I’ll be right there,” she promises again, rising from her seat by the vanity table with his hands still on her hips. Her own move to cover his for a brief moment, and then she’s gone, sliding out from under his touch.

Bucky watches her go, turns his head to follow her with his eyes until she slips into their small walk-in closet, pulling the door closed softly behind her.

 _Damn_.

He straightens his tie as he steps out of their bedroom, smoothing his shirt and pulling his phone from his pocket. Tapping at the screen, in a few moments he’s ordered them a cab, so he tucks his phone away again and leans back against the kitchen counter, waiting rather impatiently.

It’s only a couple of seconds to the promised two minutes when Natasha comes out of the bedroom, fully clothed, smiling when her gaze falls on him. It’s a new dress she’s wearing, nothing fancy, but _beautiful_. A lot of unobtrusive, tasteful black lace interspersed with many white and slightly fewer dark red blossoms scattered around her waist and over her collar and shoulders, sleeves going just over her elbows, the dress not quite reaching her knees. Her hair falls over her shoulders in large curls, kept out of her face by a small barrette on the side of her head.

“Jesus,” he mutters when he sees her, can’t help it, god, she _always_ surprises him like this. Every time he thinks she can’t look more beautiful, there she is proving him wrong.

He doesn’t mind.

<“Hello, beautiful.”>

Bucky pushes himself away from the counter, crossing over to her in a few strides and taking her hands, grinning openly at her.

“You ready?"

“I am,” she replies, and her voice is warm and silken, the curl of her lips soft as she tilts her head up and brushes the ghost of a kiss on his cheek. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you.” He can’t help but pull her closer, letting his hands slide over her hips appreciatively. “So do you.”

Natasha hums quietly in response, her hand resting on his lapel in return, and for a short, unhurried moment, she nuzzles lightly against his cheek. But soon, Bucky’s phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking the spell. He kisses her temple gently, pulling away just enough to retrieve his phone and swipe at the screen again.

“Car’s here.”

She grabs her clutch off the sideboard and shrugs on a light, slender coat to guard against the slightly chilly evening air. They leave with their hands entwined, chatting lightly about the House of Cards episode they watched just the night before, and when they step outside, Natasha comments dryly but mostly in jest that the thunder in the distance better not spell any trouble.

The car is waiting on the corner, and that's one of the several modern-day conveniences that Bucky enjoys very much; not having to hail a cab is nice, and knowing that when he opens the door for Natasha the car will be warm and neat inside just adds to the appeal, especially when she's dressed so nicely. There's something to be said for treating his best girl.

He slips in beside her, confirming the address of the restaurant, and lets his left hand slide over her thigh as they pull away, laughing quietly at one of her gentle comments about him falling asleep before the end of last night's episode.

There’s this certain glint in her eyes when she looks at him, the one she only ever gets at their date nights. And all this is already part of it; from the very first moment they start getting ready for the evening, every touch, every glance, every word is foreplay.

“We’re just going to watch it again,” Natasha says mildly and covers his hand with her own, briefly watching the city lights pass them by. “You missed an important bit.”

"Aw, man." He laces their fingers together, leaning over to kiss her cheek gently. "Anything good? I thought they'd wrapped everything up, that's why I -”

It doesn't matter what they're talking about, not really. It won't matter for the rest of the night, because the whole reason they've developed this ritual of date nights, the reason they both defend the time so jealously, is because the only important thing is that they're together. All that matters is that closeness, the touches, the whispers and smiles as they disappear into one another.

It builds, all night, until every brush of her foot over his leg under the table is electric, every kiss sending shudders down their spines.

The city melts by, watercolor lights outside the car windows, and when they stop at a light, the street lamps illuminate the copper in her hair and he just _has_ to kiss her.

He can feel her smile against his lips, and she returns the caress readily, sweetly, a hand like a feathery touch on his face. It’s laced with amusement too, but she doesn’t stop to voice whatever brought it on, not yet at least, not while their lips are still pressed together.

So he kisses her again, drawing it out for a long moment before he pulls away slightly, just enough to touch his forehead to hers.

"What's so funny?"

“I’m just going to stop wearing lipstick,” Natasha comments with an affectionate grin, her finger brushing over his cheek. “It never lasts longer than ten minutes and I always have to clean you up again.”

“Or -” He grins at her, leaning in to steal another kiss. “You could just admit it looks good on me, too.”

“If you wanted lipstick on you, you could just ask for one,” she smirks. “I have a lot of those at home, you can even choose the color next time…”

His hand slides up her thigh, slowly. “If you’re saying you want me to stop kissing you -”

“Is that what I said?”

“I don’t mind the lipstick,” he offers, all but beaming at her. “But it’s up to you.”

Natasha laughs and cups his face in her hand to kiss him again. They don’t stop until the car slows to a halt and she draws back, so much fond amusement in her eyes as she looks at him and reaches for a tissue from her clutch.

“No matter if it looks good on you in _general_ , but we certainly can’t leave it like _this_.”

“You still look good, though -” Bucky turns to face Natasha more fully, lets her wipe at his face until she seems satisfied that all the smeared lipstick is gone. His hands wander to rest on her waist, and he smiles when she finishes, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“Hold on, I’ll get your door,” he says as he slides out of the car, circling around and nodding at the driver before opening Natasha’s door and offering her his hand.

And the way she exits the car would make Hollywood starlets jealous, all graceful limbs and immaculate posture. Her hand stays in his, fingers entwining again, and she gives it a soft squeeze in thanks.

“Hope you’re hungry.”

“You kidding?” He leads her inside, stopping again to hold the restaurant’s door open for her and never once letting go of her hand. “Aren’t I always?”

“You supersoldiers,” she smirks softly, eyes on the Maître d’ as he spots them immediately and approaches, “so good for business.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately at her, following her through the restaurant until they’re directed to a small table, tucked in a corner near the back.

Perfect.

Bucky helps Natasha ease off her coat and drapes it carefully over the back of her chair, waving the Maître d’ away and pulling it out himself. Once she’s seated, he bends down for a moment, grinning as he leans in to whisper in her ear.

“Comfortable?”

“On what scale? The restaurant one or the absolute one?” she replies, tilting her head back to him just enough so that he can see the wry smile tugging on one corner of her mouth.

“Impossible,” he chuckles, pushing her chair in carefully before circling to sit across from her. They peruse their menus for a few moments before ordering a bottle of wine, a rather perfunctory gesture but one that holds a good deal of meaning. For Bucky, alcohol holds no real impact anymore, serves no purpose but the pleasure he gains in sharing it with her.

Besides, it all fits into the motions of their ritual, that glorious illusion of normalcy, selecting a bottle, approving it once their waiter brings it over to open, nodding for Natasha to receive the first pour, watching her taste it, the long line of her throat as she sips.

He lets her decide on what to order, giving input here and there but mostly leaving the dishes up to her, focusing instead on how her eyes gleam in the dim light when he catches them, the glint of her hair, the delicate smear of lipstick she leaves on her glass.

Alright, _this_ might be his favorite part.

Because something incredible always happens on their dates: the more time passes, from the moment they leave their apartment, from the moment they even start getting ready, the more a certain kind of relaxation seeps into everything about her. When she gets to talk to the waiters about the dishes they’re ordering, when she can charm the sommelier or the ushers in the theatre, her smile slowly loosens, just like the set of her shoulders, the gestures of her hands.

And it’s never the wine, or the food, or the play or the museum or the gallery that does it, because he feels it too, feels that steady, comfortable warmth from the moment they get into the shower together, the second she picks his tie or he eyes the dress she’s chosen.

Privacy is their luxury, time and the other’s undivided attention their biggest aphrodisiac, so much so that even sharing a meal in relative silence, toasting one another, is as good as any caress.

They linger over dessert and a shared glass of champagne, leaning in close to offer one another bites of cake, and beneath the table their knees touch, Natasha’s foot brushing steadily over his ankle. She has slipped out of her shoe, her toes bare as they rest against his leg, a slow, deliberate up and down, up and down.

“Do you want a second one?” she asks with a smile and a soft nod at their empty dessert plates. “You were eyeing the manju earlier…”

His left hand slips under the table, not for the first time this evening, his palm sliding over her knee.

“I could,” he offers, but there’s a wicked twist to his smile as he finishes his champagne. “But I’ll leave that up to you.”

Natasha lets out a soft sound of amusement in return and glances towards their waiter to wave him over.

“You’re going to pout later about not having tried it if you don’t.”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re too good to me.”

His hand finds its way beneath the hem of her dress, fingertips teasing over the delicate skin at the inside of her knee.

“And I don’t _pout_ -”

“Yes you do,” Natasha shoots back without a beat, ordering the manju while moving her leg forward a little, subtly giving him just a bit more space.

“Then you must like it,” he counters, his palm sliding over her inner thigh slowly. “Because you never stop me.”

“Why ever would I do that, if it’s such a source of delight to me?”

Her eyes are glinting when she turns her head to look back at him, liquid-dark in the warm light.

Bucky’s grin melts into something fond at that, eyes shining when they meet hers. God, he adores her, even more at times like this, when she looks at him with that trust and comfort so apparent on her face.

“You spoil me, darling.”

The way she looks at him softens instantly, and she reaches over and puts a hand on Bucky’s cheek, her thumb softly brushing over his cheekbone before she leans in and presses a light kiss to his lips. “The feeling is mutual, _zvezda moya_.”

He kisses her again, smiling into it, and when their waiter returns, he requests another glass of champagne for the both of them. Natasha teases him as they finish their second dessert, her lips curling into the softest, most indulgent of smirks when he eyes the last bite on her fork before she offers it to him.

They sip their champagne quietly, contentedly, Bucky’s fingertips tracing delicate patterns over her thigh, and by the time their waiter comes to collect their bill, Bucky’s worked his way up to stroke gently at the lace edge of her panties.

She lets him.

But soon he withdraws his hand, grinning at her, and stands up carefully, circling the small table again to take her coat, carefully pulling out her chair. Natasha slips her arm through his as they leave, her body warm and close to his side when she asks if he’s in the mood to walk for a bit.

The night is cool, crisp but not too cold, and so they take a detour through Washington Square Park, the fountain bubbling quietly in the darkness. Bucky leads Natasha underneath the stone archway at the opening of the park, stopping for a moment to admire how the park’s lights warm her skin.

She puts her head down on his shoulder.

“Think it’s still going to rain?”

“Might?” He’d look up to check the sky, but he’s distracted pressing kisses to her hair, breathing her in. “Maybe -”

He’s interrupted by a crack of thunder, much closer this time, and before he can finish the thought it does start to rain, without warning, fat droplets of water splattering the sidewalk around them. Bucky swears, but it’s hidden inside a laugh of surprise, and he shrugs off his jacket immediately, holding it over both of them. Natasha is even closer now, pressing against his side as her gaze, shining with mirth, goes up to the sky.

“Come on,” she says and steers them back under the archway until they’re sheltered beneath it, both the monument and his jacket keeping their heads dry at least for the moment.

“This is ridiculous,” Bucky grins, nudging her back against the cool stone, holding his jacket up to cover them. “Whole night’s _ruined_ .” He leans in to kiss her, his jacket obscuring them completely, laughing into her mouth. “Just _horrible_ , how’re we ever gonna recover from this -”

“You’re an adorable idiot,” Natasha comments and pulls him close to shut him up with a kiss, deep and exhilarated, while the rain pelts down on the asphalt all around them.

They stay like that for several long moments, each kiss deeper than the last, hands wandering. Bucky nudges his knee between Natasha’s thighs, nipping at her bottom lip, and she lets out a quiet whine into the next press of lips, moving subtly against him.

“We should go home.” He kisses over her jaw, grinning when she tilts her hips against his. “Catch a cold or something -”

“If you’re _actually_ telling me you’re worried I’ll catch a cold from a bit of rain, we’re going to have words.”

“Shh -” He rests his palms against the stone behind her, still holding his jacket over them, and grinds his hips against hers. “I would never.”

Natasha bites down on her lower lip, a soft sound, barely audible over the rain, slipping out anyway.

“Home does sound nice though.”

“It does.” He steals a last kiss, quiet and soft, and then pulls away, smiling at her. They stand beneath the arch for a few more moments, waiting for a lull in the downpour, and when they finally see one, Bucky hurries them out to the curb, leaving Natasha with his jacket and ducking to stand in the rain and hail the first passing cab.

He pulls the door open for her, rain gathering heavy in his hair, catching in his eyelashes, and he can’t help but let out another laugh when she stops to kiss him again, tipping her face up into the falling rain, unbothered.

By the time they’re settled into the backseat and Natasha’s given the driver their address, Bucky’s jacket is soaked nearly through, and Natasha’s hair is sticking to her face in limp, damp tendrils. Her lipstick is smudged on the corner of her mouth, and so he kisses her there, nudging her back until she’s facing him, her back against the door of the car.

There’s always a moment like this, on their dates, an unspoken agreement to dispense with the formality and caution that fancy clothes and nice restaurants seem to encourage, and that’s how Natasha’s legs end up draped over Bucky’s lap, his hand slipping under the hem of her dress again as they start kissing once more in earnest.

Even this is all part of it.

They keep silent in the backseat, that old habit still very much working for them if they need it to. It's not like anything more serious than a scandalized taxi driver is at stake, not like it used to be, but neither of them are interested in an intrusion, never are.

This is _theirs_ , theirs alone, and as soon as she senses eyes on them in the rearview mirror, Natasha pulls out of the kiss with a silent laugh. She leaves her legs where they are, though, and even the innocent gesture of resting her head on his shoulder again can't hide what's brimming between them now.

The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence, Bucky’s fingers gently trailing up and down Natasha’s calf, her head leaning lightly on his chest. They don’t need to speak, or even to touch more than they already are, to prolong the simmering heat between them; the ride back is always like this, quiet but electric, only serving to make the anticipation shivering between them sharper, more exciting.

Bucky pays the cab driver quickly when they arrive in front of their building, thanking him, and helps Natasha to ease her legs off his lap before he slides out of the car, holding the door open for her once more. He retrieves his sodden jacket, wringing it out on the sidewalk as the cab pulls away mostly for Natasha’s amusement, just so he can kiss the laugh off her lips before he follows her inside.

Natasha’s coat is damp when she peels herself out of it, the dress underneath still mostly dry. No comparison to how Bucky’s shirt is soaked and plastered to his skin, but that earns him one hell of an appreciative look, and for that, he decides he doesn’t mind.

He grins at her, folding his jacket limply over his arm and loosening his tie as they wait in silence for the elevator. He watches Natasha from the corner of his eye, her gaze leaving his to travel over his chest, and he can’t help rolling his shoulders back, preening for her, shameless. So he’s not surprised when she all but hauls him into the elevator once it arrives, two fingers hooked into the front pocket of his slacks, her other hand wrapping in his tie to pull him close, and he hardly has a moment to press the button for their floor before she’s kissing him again, and there’s nothing harmless or chaste about it anymore.

She bites down on his lower lip and pulls his hips against hers, even widens her stance a little to allow them to fit better, only her dress in the way now. Her coat is still thrown over one arm, but the other loops around his shoulders, his neck, her lips sweet and pliant underneath his.

They stumble from the elevator into a thankfully empty hallway, trading kisses as they half-drag each other toward their front door. Bucky fumbles with his keys, Natasha caught between him and the door doing something _incredibly_ distracting to the sensitive spot just below his jaw, and they both practically topple inside when he finally manages to unlock the deadbolt.

She laughs, _god_ , she _laughs_ , a rush of warm breath against the damp skin of his neck, and he drops his keys and jacket, kicking the door closed again, desperate to get his hands on her. They leave a trail of clothes littering the hall, Natasha tugging off his tie and expertly working open the buttons of his shirt without breaking their kiss. She peels it off his skin in a matter of seconds, pushing him back against their bedroom door and resting her hands on his hips to keep him there.

Her lips leave his, but only to wander along his jawline again, to nuzzle at the soft spot below his ear. And then it’s down his neck, over his collarbones, and when she kicks off her heels, she only has to bend down a little to be able to press kisses along the lines of his chest, to mouth at a nipple, to catch every last drop of rain left on his skin.

Bucky lets his hands slide into her hair, fingers pushing gently through the damp curls, and a soft groan leaves him, his back arching. God, she’s _beautiful_ , and he tells her as much, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks, brushing the last wet strands away from her face so he can watch her as she mouths over his skin, green eyes flicking up to meet his.

She’s smiling at him.

Her lips wander on to follow every line of muscle she can find, lavishing them with attention. His slacks are undone without Bucky even noticing that she’s worked on them, her fingers nimble and quick, and just a couple of moments later she’s tugging the fabric down over his hips.

“Christ -” His head drops back against the door with a thump, his eyes slipping closed.

“Think you can stand still for a while longer?” Natasha teases uncompromisingly, biting gently into the skin over his hipbone as her hands slide into his underwear, tugging them down as well to leave him naked except for his shoes and the fabric pooling around his feet.

Bucky’s fingers tighten in her hair for a moment, a helpless noise breaking free from his chest.

“If it’s for what you got in mind, yeah -”

Natasha snickers quietly against his skin, kissing low on his stomach. She’s settled down, resting comfortably on her knees in front of him.

“What if it isn’t?”

He laughs, finally tucking his chin to look down at her, his left hand coming to stroke her cheek affectionately.

“Then I’ll trip over myself trying to get it anyway, give you a good laugh.”

The way her lips twist into a smile betrays the depth of the affection underlining it, the fondness and gratefulness, the love. Natasha never puts a lot of that into words, but for Bucky it’s plain to see nevertheless.

“Good thing for you that’s not necessary then,” she replies and shifts, gaze locking on his as she leans in and licks over the tip of his cock, leisurely wrapping her lips around it.

“ _Oh_ -”

Bucky’s head drops back again, his hands slipping from Natasha’s hair to cup her cheeks, fingertips stroking carefully over her jaw, not hurrying or guiding her, just keeping her with him, appreciative, a low moan leaving him as she swallows around his length. His eyes slip closed again, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, doing very little to keep back the soft whines falling from his mouth.

It’s not all that she does. She lets up sometimes, pulling away to do nothing more than suckle gently on the tip, sometimes moving on entirely to nuzzle her face against his stomach with her hand coming up instead, fingers trailing softly over the underside of his cock before she moves back in, slowly swallowing him down again.

Time spins out infinite, all of Bucky’s focus on the sensation, tunneling to nothing but the two of them, just like it’s been all night. It’s everything, it always is, the small circle they inhabit together when they’re like this, the rest of the world fading away and forgotten.

He loses track of his words, mumbling encouragements and endearments and whispering her name over and over, desire shivering down his spine, warmth coiling low in his gut, spinning tighter and tighter with each slide of her lips. The plush heat of her mouth drives every other thought from his mind, and all too soon he’s racing toward the edge, a feeble protest leaving his lips.

“Natalia -”

She doesn't always listen to him, but this time she does. Another small lick and then she simply directs her kisses upwards again, over his stomach, chest, collarbones, and then just steps close and tucks herself under his chin, the lace of her dress, the small white and red blossoms pressing softly against his naked skin.

He shivers, another whine escaping him, but he wraps his arms around her immediately, pulling her closer to shift against him, bending down to catch her lips in a deep, desperate kiss. She returns it, heated and thorough, a drying curl of her hair stuck between their cheeks, her arms sliding around his waist.

Bucky’s hands come up to frame her face, holding her close for another searing kiss, and he finally kicks out of his slacks, toeing off his shoes and pressing against her again, the brush of lace against his skin pulling a soft gasp from him.

“Bed,” he pants into the kiss, slotting their hips together so he can grind against her. “Now.”

“Mhmm,” she hums back but doesn’t seem to want to stop kissing him, shifting against him until the dress is hiked up around her hips and she can angle one leg around his thigh and press even closer. The lace is rubbing over his cock, caught between them, and Natasha sighs into their kiss.

Bucky lets out a whine at the sensation, the catch and drag of the fabric sending sparks through him, spiraling down his spine, straight to his gut. His hands drop from Natasha's face, palming her ass, fingertips digging into the lace of her panties and then he's pulling her up, lifting her until her legs are wrapped around his waist.

He stumbles both of them into the bedroom, all but tossing her onto the bed. Dropping to his knees at the edge of it, he tugs at her hips, rucking her dress up further until he can press his face against the lace of her panties, inhaling the scent of her, peppering kisses over the fabric and leaving small nips on the delicate, creamy skin of her thighs.

Natasha’s laughing softly, _giggling_ almost, a delighted, unburdened sound. “You should let me get out of the dress -” she says even while reaching for his hair, combing her fingers through it, and her legs fall open in a wordless invitation.

Bucky doesn't respond for a moment, busy licking a stripe up her inner thigh, nuzzling against her, sucking kisses over the front of her panties, but then he swats at her hip lightly, left hand palming her thigh and ducking as he guides her to turn over onto her stomach.

He slides his hands over the backs of her thighs, palms coming to rest spanning her hips, and he makes a pleased, appreciative noise deep in his throat at the sight of the crisscrossing straps at the back of her panties, the little details framing small bits of exposed skin.

"I like these," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against the dip of her back. His hands reach up to work the zipper of her dress down slowly, just enough that he can push the whole thing up, further, leaving it to Natasha to peel off as Bucky wraps his hands around her hips, pulling her up onto her knees so he can bury his face between her thighs again. "Maybe I should leave them on," he muses, tongue darting out to lick over the edge of the lace.

“Good,” she sighs, her knees edging apart, her back a nice arch under his gaze up to where her hair - now curled more wildly, naturally from the rain - spills down over her shoulder blades.

She doesn’t have to say out loud that she bought them for him, same as the delicate, wireless bra that’s cut in a low V over her cleavage and doesn’t really hide a lot. He’s pretty sure she _always_ has his taste in mind when she buys new things to wear, especially when it comes to underwear, and especially when those pieces are meant for their date nights.

And yes - so maybe he’s predictable in that department, or she’s just figured him out ages ago, the way she does. The one thing Bucky knows is that this really _is_ all for him.

And that she looks _beautiful_.

Bucky pulls away for a moment, just to appreciate how gorgeous she is, spread out before him like this. The anticipation they've been building with quiet touches and glances all evening is still there, its edges sharpened by the arousal thudding through his veins, but all of this is part of it, too, admiring her, pressing soft words of praise against her skin.

He pushes up, just enough to kiss up the knobs of her spine until he's pressed flush against her back, kneeling behind her. Letting his hands wander over her sides, he trails the fingertips of his right hand down the center of her stomach, torturously slow, knowing how much she likes to drag it out when they're together this way.

When there isn't a goal in mind, or any hurry, just a whole night spent enjoying the other's pleasure.

"I'd hate to ruin them, though," he reasons, fingertips slipping beneath the delicate waistband of her panties, stroking idly through her folds, gathering the wetness already slicking her skin. " _That_ would be a shame."

A soft, amused sound comes from her in reply, and when she turns her head to glance at him over her shoulder, he can see her smile.

“That would be very… displeasing. So you think you can’t control yourself enough to not just start tearing at them, hm?”

Her hips are canting back just a little as she speaks, pushing back against his fingers, into his touch.

Bucky circles a fingertip over her clit, slowly, taking the opportunity to hook his chin over her shoulder and kiss the edge of her smile.

"It's not a matter of control," he punctuates his words with the pads of two fingers tapped against her clit, "but I promise not to tear them this time, I learned my lesson after the last ones."

Natasha gasps softly against his lips, but it doesn’t stop her from replying.

“I do think it’s a matter of control… even if it’s only over your impatience, or your enthusiasm… mmhh -”

He speeds his movements, his fingertips stroking over her firmly, gently, and he bends to press a kiss to her shoulder, grinning against her skin.

"That's a new one," he chuckles, nuzzling the back of her neck. "Never told me to curb my enthusiasm before."

“Only around my underwear -”

There’s a smile in her words, but it’s punctuated with a soft sound, something much shorter and smaller than a moan or even a gasp, but audible nonetheless as she lets her head fall forward, hair obscuring her face, and her hips move back against his hand.

An idea strikes him, suddenly, spurred on by the shifting of her body, the fresh wash of heat over his hand. Bucky withdraws his fingers, shushing Natasha quietly when she protests, and guides her to lie back against the pillows, arranging her body spread out on their bed.

He finishes undressing her slowly, trailing his fingers over the cups of her bra, easing it off slowly and bending to nuzzle at her skin, pressing little kisses over her breasts, lingering to caress them and lick and suck at her nipples, settling their hips together.

There’s a certain calm, a _serenity_ to her as she lies beneath him and just watches, only her hands moving to caress his shoulders, his throat, the nape of his neck, his hair. Happily indulging him, her body responding quietly but beautifully to everything he does, her thighs cradling him.

By the time he reaches her stomach, dropping kisses lightly over her hips, Bucky's all but drunk on the soft sounds she's making, focused entirely on the shifts of her body, the low hums, the quiet beating of her heart.

He slips her panties off carefully, grinning loosely up her body, meeting her eyes.

"See -” He eases them down her legs slowly, making his point, and then folds them, reaching over to rest them on the nightstand, smirking affectionately at her.

Natasha laughs quietly back at him, reaches up to bury her hand in his hair and tug him down to her so that the tips of their noses touch.

“Mhmm… Now I get to wear them again, whenever you want me to. Does that sound like a good enough payoff to you?”

He grins broadly at her, fondness blooming in his chest.

"I love you," he replies, dipping down to kiss her, chuckling quietly into it.

They drag it out for a few long moments, lips fitting together like their bodies do, hips and thighs and stomachs and chests, having figured each other out so long ago that now it’s effortless, the most familiar thing on earth.

“I love you too,” she replies once their kiss wears off, without teasing this time, without smirks or smart edges, a not-so-secret confession into the space between her lips and his ears.

And he kisses her again, stealing it away, tucking it someplace safe deep inside him, alongside all the other ones, all the times she's whispered to him affectionately, trusted him with those small, secret pieces of her. Soon, they're rocking together again, kissing lazily, and his right hand works between them once more, tucking between her thighs so he can stroke her gently as they move against one another.

It’s that part of the night where she lets herself unravel, where she lets go of what the world out there is allowed to see of them, where she lets her eyes drift shut and goes soft and pliant under his attentions. Where her lips start to redden from their kisses and they part to let out bitten-off hums and small moans, sharp little gasps against his lips and her hands wander over his skin while her hips circle against his touch, unhurriedly wanting everything he has to give.

This, well and truly, _is_ his favorite part.

Unlike all the other times they're together this way, like when they're making love before dawn or fucking roughly in the shower after a hard day, they don't talk now, the stillness and quiet just adding to the sensations, the sacredness of it, the ritual that they've built and found safety in. These dates are so much more than a few hours of feigned normalcy over a nice meal; it's a renewal, a reconfirmation, reminding them both that there's so, so much more to what they've built together than the big gestures.

Sometimes it's simple.

The slow press of his fingers inside her, the catch of her palm as she strokes him, the shiver that passes between them as they rock together on an almost endless inhale before the moment shatters around them, and they cling together.

The contented silence after, when they do nothing but breathe each other's air.

She moves first, eventually, the way she almost always does. Just a kiss at first, small and lazy on his lips, then the drag of her hair over his shoulder and she reaches for the small, fresh towel they have long since made a habit of keeping in the drawer next to their bed. She wipes her fingers and his, chuckling softly at the way his hand is completely pliant in hers, and then between her thighs and over his stomach. She leaves small kisses on his temple, his cheek, his hair.

He lets her rearrange them, pillowing his head on her chest, and he curls closely around her, slipping his left arm beneath her so that he can hold her.

The way she's smiling, right now, he wants that to be the last thing he ever sees.

They're quiet for a while longer, and he presses kisses against her throat, fingertips stroking over her stomach slowly, until it feels right to break the silence.

"So do those come in other colors?"

He gestures to her panties, still folded neatly on the nightstand, grinning openly up at her. They're not much for whispered oaths after, usually, but the idle stroke of his fingers over her hip is an _I love you_ as true as anything could be.

"I like them."

Natasha grins back at him, unguarded and warm, her fingertip idly following the shell of his ear. “I thought you might. Red, pink and white, yes.”

Bucky makes a face at the choices, his right hand coming to rest on her waist, fingers joining his left and lacing together, holding her more closely in the circle of his arms.

"Red might be nice." He flicks his eyes up at her. "Too on the nose?"

“You know I don’t mind red,” she smiles back, fingertips going on to trail through his ruffled strands of hair. “I found another set too, a nice lilac color. Can show you tomorrow, if you want.”

He kisses her throat, humming softly.

"Save it for next time?"

The way she smiles tells him she’s not opposed to that at all.

“Speaking of…”

She doesn’t take care to conceal that she’s going to move but it comes as a bit of a surprise anyway when she rolls them around and Bucky suddenly finds himself on his back with her body resting comfortably on top of him, and she presses a short, sweet kiss to his lips.

“I want to go wipe my makeup off. Don’t go anywhere.”

"Not planning to." He kisses her again, shifting onto his side once she goes so he can watch her cross the room, the sway in her hips exaggerated for his benefit. Bucky takes the time to stretch, keeping an eye on her until she pulls the bathroom door closed, and once she does, he turns over to reach off the bed, retrieving her dress and uncrumpling it, folding it over the end of their bed frame.

By the time she returns, fresh-faced, her hair combed back, he's managed to arrange himself in the exact center of their bed, stretching out, a sheet pulled over his hips.

<"There's my girl.">

Natasha grins at him, and when she skips onto the bed to join him, it’s not with her usual, deadly and cat-like grace, but with the enthusiasm and light-heartedness of the young woman he once coaxed out of a hard, cold, bloody shell. She laughs and lets him catch her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and stealing a quick kiss from his lips.

“Ready for more?”

And _this_ is why he guards this time so jealously, why he would give up many, many things before he even considered giving up their date nights, this time together.

He pulls her closer, grinning as she arranges herself straddling his lap.

"Are you?"

“Oh, I’m _so far_ from done with you,” she smiles against his lips, her hand on his cheek as she kisses him, and that’s no surprise at all.

Considering that so far, all of this was just foreplay.

**Author's Note:**

> We couldn't bring ourselves to translate it, even though we did for everything else that was said in Russian.
> 
>  _zvezda moya_ = my star


End file.
